


You Can Quote Me On That

by sevryx (Viridescent_Espionage)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, One Shot Collection, Prompt Fill, Spideypool - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridescent_Espionage/pseuds/sevryx
Summary: "Hey baby boy, you ever notice how we're just like hot-chocolate?" "What?" "Because you're totally hot and I'd love to be on top of you."[A 16-Chapter collection of oneshots based on horrible pick-up lines. Each chapter follows in chronological order of the relationship. Chapter descriptions are located in the A/Ns.]





	1. Phone Number

**Author's Note:**

> Doing his rounds in Queens, Spider-Man attracts the unwanted attention of a certain Merc with a Mouth who won't rest at anything to get a number for that name.
> 
> "Oh, fuck! I totally just lost my -- I must have left it back in the damn warehouse!" "Lost what?" "My number! Mind if I borrow yours, Spidey?"

It was already well past midnight, and if Aunt May had known that her nephew had been flying through the city with his mutant spider powers instead of lying in bed like a regular student, she would definitely had a few words for Peter. Fortunately for him, she was none the wiser back in their apartment at Queens, where he should have been on a school night.

Like that was going to happen.

Peter had already gotten his fair share of warnings from the Avengers, especially Tony and Happy, that he shouldn't be sacrificing his regular teen-hood to be fighting the kind of crime that could cut his young life short. Hell, he'd made the decision well before graduating high school. Even as a college student, he felt the obligation to continue his love of science, wanting to grow into an adult that didn't only contribute to fighting crime, but to improving modern medicine and technology. But the lab report due in two days was the last thing on his mind as he splayed down across a rooftop, heaving in and out ragged breaths through a rolled up mask.

"Wow, that sure was a close one, baby boy."

A voice too overly enthusiastic to have belonged to a man pulling a hunting knife from his abdomen chimed in obnoxiously, breaking Peter's calming silence.

A beat of silence passed before he inhaled sharply, coming into an upright position. He pulled the mask down. "I told you not to call me that."

"Aw, but where's the fun in that?" Wade jested, unceremoniously dropping to the ground next to the younger man. "Besides, you hardly ever complain about it."

"I'm complaining about it now, aren't I? Doesn't it feel, like, weird for you to say?"

Wade Wilson, known only to the other as Deadpool, cocked his head. Peter swore he could feel the shit-eating grin seeping out through his mask-covered face.

"Are you asking me how I feel about it on a friendship level, or a sexual level? Because damn, could I tell you--"

"Ugh, that's enough." Peter shoved the alleged anti-hero with an elbow, unable to hide the tinge of amusement in his reprimands.

"Ah-hah! I could tell you liked it. I'll use it more often, if it, you know, floats your boat the way that it floats mine, sweet-cheeks."

Peter rolled his eyes, an action he wished the mercenary could only see through his mask. However, he felt rather glad that the two of them were wearing such masks, as he was certain that he didn't really want to see the expressions that Deadpool was throwing his way.

"Oh, fuck!" Deadpool's shout of distress broke the light atmosphere between the two, Wade jumping to his feet and patting his suit frantically. "I totally just lost my -- I must have left it back at the damn warehouse!"

Peter rose to his feet, wincing at the bruising on his waist and leg. The robbery bust they'd made that night hadn't come easy, and although the two unlikely partners had prevailed in the end, it didn't come without physical consequences. Deadpool just seemed luckier, Peter thought obliviously, being seemingly unaffected by the fight.

"Lost what?" Peter asked.

Wade placed two hands on Peter's shoulders, shaking the boy slightly before whispering in a concerned tone, leaning into Peter's masked face. "My number! Mind if I borrow yours, Spidey?"

"Wait, my --? Ugh, you idiot." Peter shoved Wade backwards gently, determined to not reveal the amusement the quirky man brought to him.

"So, is that a yes?" Childishly, Deadpool waved a small, pink bedazzled phone in the face of the boy which he only knew as Spider-Man.

And against all better judgement, Peter sighed in defeat, taking the cellphone and inputting his own cell number.

"Text it only when you have to. Like, for missions and stuff. Okay?" He tossed it indelicately back to Wade, who fumbled it before gripping it tightly.

"You betcha, baby boy!"

The journey home didn't last nearly as long as Peter anticipated, or maybe it was the contagious skip in his step that always seemed to come along after missions with Deadpool. The injuries sustained from the battle didn't throb nearly as long, and though it was likely more accredited to his own healing abilities, a tiny urge in the back of the boy's head told him that it could be something else.

Crawling in through his bedroom window, Peter peeled off his suit and slipping into boxers, fully intending on literally leaping into bed when he heard a chiming noise through the fabric of his backpack. He furrowed his brow, walking across the room to investigate.

[1 New SMS from Unknown Number]

Peter rolled his eyes, his finger only hovering over the button for half of a second before a second chime erupted from the device.

[2 New SMS from Unknown Number]

He waited, the buzzing repeating itself for another tiring minute. He sighed.

[12 New SMS from Unknown Number]

He chuckled, creating a new contact. "Deadpool", it read, followed by a string of emoticons which included a gun, a knife, and a red heart, for which he excused away to himself by saying that it was the only one that was red, just like Deadpool's suit. Yeah, that explains it.

[Go to bed, douchepool] He typed back, scrolling haphazardly through the near incoherent messages from the other.

[Kk! G'night baby boy!! XOXO -pool <3 <3 <3]

Peter groaned and flopped on top of his bed. He felt something not exactly foreign for the man, but he chose to call it regret for giving him his contact information, at least for the night.

[Goodnight deadpool. XOXO -spidey]


	2. Hand-Holding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jeez, how about that hand of yours! It's looking pretty heavy. Want me to hold it for you?"
> 
> In which post-mission hangouts are beginning to become ritual, and Deadpool begins to request post-mission walks home for his web-swinging counterpart.

It was another late night, and the red-suited duo were nonchalantly strolling through the backstreets of the city, suits torn and them recovering their breathing, but not as badly as some fights had left them.

Parting ways immediately after a mission had been common in the early stages of their relationship, if one were to call it as such. Gradually, it had turned into late-night quiet sessions upon the rooftops of New York between the two, until Deadpool sprung back up into his enthusiastic conversations, and Peter suggested that they go home due to the late hour.

This ritual, however, had begun to prove consistently less entertaining to the older, stranger man. It was a random night after the end of a relatively easy mission when he'd offered to walk Peter home. Peter, of course, laughed in response to the offer, arguing that he was literally a superhero, and that he also didn't want the other to know where he lived.

_"Why don't you want me to know where you live, Spidey? We could have play-dates! It would be great."_

_"I don't want to have to see you any more than how much I already do."_

_"Ouch, that really hurt my feelings. I don't think I'll ever recover from that. Except, maybe, if you kissed it better? It hurts the most right here. And right here."_

Peter remembered the crude gestures Deadpool gave him, one to his lips, and an even more grandiose gesture towards his crotch. He also remembered almost shoving him off the building in response.

That was two weeks ago, and the first night that Deadpool had walked him home. Well, not specifically to his house, but about a block out from his apartment building. Security purposes, Peter had told him. Wade seemed to be satisfied with it. To the younger man's disdain, this was just the first of many times.

Having had a mission-heavy month, tonight was the fifth night Deadpool had walked his new "BFF" Spider-Man out to Queens.

"Was tonight that rough for you?" Deadpool asked, the suggestive tone in his voice more or less ignored by his company.

"Was it not for you? You got stabbed. Eight different times. How are you still standing?" Peter rebuked, not slowing in his pace, but turning to face the other.

"I've had much worse done to me than getting stabbed, hun. Ever had to cut your own hand off?"

Peter stopped. "What? No! And neither have you! You still obviously have both of yours." He knew the other man had a miraculously healing factor, much stronger than his own, but to the extent he was still unaware.

"That's the fun part, kid! It grows back."

Peter would have been lying if he'd said that that statement hadn't made him a bit queasy. He settled for a quiet "oh" before continuing the walk.

A heavy silence later, he turned around.

"I didn't know you could do that."

"Huh, sorry," Deadpool looked up from his uncharacteristic speechlessness, "I was too busy staring at that tight little ass. What was that you said?"

"I said that I didn't know that you could do that," Peter replied, sheepishly, "I mean, I knew you could heal but. I didn't really think... I don't know."

"Ha, Spidey, if you were that interested in me, you could have just asked!" Deadpool nudged him, somewhat alleviating the awkwardness. "I'd swipe right for you any day, baby boy."

There was a beat of silence.

"Yeah, well. I can't die! It's my super special secret power! Don't tell anyone!" Wade quipped, before giggling childishly once more. "I mean, everyone who's tried to kill me probably already knows that! But then again, they're all dead, I think. Funny, ain't it? Karma's a bitch. Or maybe I'm Karma's bitch? Who knows."

Peter nodded, lost in his own train of thought. He was so distracted that he nearly walked right through Deadpool when he stopped in front of him.

"Bad posture isn't good for you, Spidey! You look saggy."

"I'm tired. It's been a long month."

"Yeah, it sure looks like this month kicked your ass. Hey, I could kiss it better for ya! What do you say?"

"I say that you need to stop looking at my ass."

"You're ass should stop looking at me." Deadpool whipped around, stealing another glance at the spandex-clad man's rear before turning around and slapping his knee. "Damn, baby boy." He shook his head.

"Pervert."

Wade laughed, and the two continued walking, the night stretching on into what felt like a comforting lull. Peter fought to keep his eyes open, nearly regretting to agreeing to these late-night walks. Swinging home would be much faster.

"Oof, you look like you're about to fall over there, babe. Want me to help out?"

"Help out? You're damn talking makes me feel like I've been walking for an entire decade without sleeping."

"I'll take that as a yes! Let's see what I can do." Taking a few steps in front of Peter, Deadpool rubbed his chin in fake thought. "Jeez, how about that hand of yours! It's looking pretty heavy. Want me to hold it for you?"

If Peter Parker had a quarter for every time Deadpool had made a pass at him, either in a heavily inappropriate or even goofy way, he was sure he could definitely pay for his entire college tuition by now. And then some. He rubbed his temples with one hand. Before he could bother reacting, he felt a larger, gloved hand intertwine with his free one.

"I'm not hearing a no!" Wade exclaimed joyfully. "Wow, you have such delicate hands, Spidey! I bet they're even softer underneath the spandex. Which, if I might add, make your ass look--"

"Shut up about my ass!" Peter snapped, voice ridden with exhaustion.

Another pause.

"Woof, you're sexy when you're feisty! This is one of the least confusing boners I've ever had."

Peter could have continued to play this game of banter with Deadpool. He could have groaned and shouted and bickered, but that was just expected of him. But it was late, and he was tired. So tired, that he hadn't even noticed that they'd gone past the flickering light post that marked a block from his building, but all the way to the front doors.

"Go home, asshole."

"I'll definitely be thinking about yours tonight, baby boy!"

Peter swore he could feel the wink underneath the damn mask. He blamed the intuition of his spider-senses, or maybe paranoia. Or maybe it was just because he knew.

"Ah, I hate to be the one to bring it up, but, ah," Wade gestured downwards with his head, "If I'm gonna go, I kind of want my hand back. Especially for tonight, heh."

With a flush of embarrassment, Peter retracted his hand from from Deadpool's as if it were touching molten lava.

"Let's do this again sometime, Spidey!"

With that, the mercenary was gone as quickly as Peter could look back up to offer another retort. He just muttered instead, muffled under the mask and under the weight of his vaguely humiliated tone.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

 


	3. Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, do I get a kiss for good luck, Petey-Pie? Or am I going to have to lie to my diary?"
> 
> Deadpool begins to learn that not all of his witty one-liners work. Or maybe most of them do? Some of them? Peter would argue that the success rate was close to nil.

It was a stakeout. That's what Peter had said, anyway. That didn't stop Deadpool from separating the "s" from the "takeout" and bringing two bag of carryout Mexican and two six-packs of beer.

"How do you expect to stay focused when you're going to be this..." Peter trailed off, hardly retaining a scoff before continuing, "Inebriated?"

"Inebriated?" Deadpool repeated, before shotgunning another can and crinkling it up. He tossed it nonchalantly off the fire escape in which the to two of them sat. Peter made a face underneath his mask. "Takes a lot more than this to get me shit-faced, baby boy."

The younger man held back a grunt of disbelief, watching Deadpool start on his eighth can. He'd taken one out of courtesy, but drank no more than a few sips before letting the cool aluminum sweat in his hands.

"Besides, Spidey," Deadpool wiped his mouth with his hand before pulling down his mask, the darkness of night obscuring his exposed face enough to prevent the other party from seeing much at all, "They're not supposed to meet for the next hour or so. We have time! I wouldn't have come so early if it didn't mean that we'd get to some time to hang out together beforehand! You know, I'm beginning to think that you really do like to hang out with --"

"Shh. Stop talking."

Peter cut him off mid-babble, perking up in his seated position atop the metal railing.

"Ohh! Spidey-senses tingling? You hearing anything?"

"Yeah. Listen."

The duo waited in silence, perhaps a whole minute or so passing before Deadpool slunk back down into his comfortable position. "I don't hear anything."

"Exactly."

Peter chuckled to himself, waiting until the other gasped in feigned offense before laughing himself.

"Ha, so Spidey has jokes, has he?" Wade scoffed, smirk visible through the red of his mask. Peter wondered what it looked like without the offense garment of leather. "I thought you were Mister Goody-Two-Shoes, but lying to me like this? Ha! I'm sure Tony would be..."

Deadpool trailed off, seemingly losing his sense of humor with mention of the Avengers.

"You know Tony?" Peter tilted his head inquisitively.

"Yeah. I mean, who doesn't know Iron Man?" Deadpool countered.

"No, yeah, but I meant like. Personally."

"He knows me. Can't say that's he's happy to. But we've been... acquainted. A couple times." He paused. "I've had more dealings with the X-Men, but I mean. I can't say that Wolverine likes me any more than the Tin Man does."

"Oh."

Dumb response, Peter thought, pinching himself internally. He never really considered being in a position where he wasn't constantly doing good, constantly working for Tony and the Avengers and listening to other agents like Happy. But then again, he didn't have many dealings with people like Deadpool. He didn't feel the perpetual need to impress him, to always have to be perfect in front of him. Another few moments of silence passed.

"I'm sure that Tony doesn't hate you like that," Peter pushed, "I know I don't hate you."

Deadpool paused, deliberating what he was about to say in a near startlingly uncharacteristic manner.

"That's nice, Spidey. Thanks."

"You can, uh," Peter coughed, lifting his right hand to rub across his left upper arm. "You can call me Peter."

Deadpool perked up at the invitation. Peter swallowed, unsure if the revealing of his own secret identity was a good idea.

"Then you can call me Wade."

"Okay, Wade. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Peter."

Peter held his hand out, meeting Wade's for an arguably childish handshake before resting them back down into his lap.

"Man, I'm going to have a lot to write in my diary tonight."

Peter laughed, not bothering to hold it in for concern for behavior or allowing Wade to see his obvious enjoyment. He breathed out, turning his head toward the other man, still while lost in his thoughts. He found himself again wondering about the man under the mask. He had a name for it now, even. It only whet his curiosity. He studied Wade as his rolled up his mask, tilting his head noticeably away from Peter as he attacked another empanada. He opened his mouth to inquire about this protective behavior when two cars approached the building in front of them and shut off, a pack of men falling in line to enter the building.

"Hey, looks like we have company." Peter stood.

"Aw, and I was having so much fun." Wade followed in suit, tossing the paper bags and empty aluminum cans haphazardly towards the dumpsters below. He pulled two pistols from their holsters, spinning them with a grin.

"So do I get a kiss for good luck Petey-Pie? Or am I going to have to lie to my diary?"

"Lying has never been a problem for you, has it? You're a mercenary."

"Ouch, hey. I'm a _reforming_ mercenary. And I brought the food, you need to carry some weight around here. How about that kiss?"

"You can kiss my ass." Peter snapped, swinging down quietly towards the armed men.

"Oh, you bet I will," Wade holstered his weapons, leaping down in suit, "I won't forget that offer, baby boy."

 


	4. Carnival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Want to play carnival? You can sit on my face, and I'll guess how much you weigh."
> 
> Peter already regretted giving Wade a free pass into his house.

“Want to play carnival? You can sit on my face, and I’ll guess how much you weigh.”

Peter almost spit out his drink. The mercenary cackled like a hyena in response as Peter choked on his own saliva.

“Oh my god, what the _fuck_ , Wade?”

Peter’s apartment was on the border of his college campus, Middleton University. He lived alone now, nothing too foreign as he’d spent the better part of his high school career living with only his Aunt May. It was his third year there now, and really, it was May’s decision for him to be living on his own. ‘More independence’, she’d said. If she were any older, or perhaps just less stubborn, then perhaps Peter would have declined. Nevertheless, he would come back often, they decided. Phone calls and text messages would be answered promptly.

Moving day was two weeks ago, and Peter was fine transitioning alone. Only, there was someone who absolutely insisted that he help. And Peter wasn’t sure if he was glad for the company, or regretting the divulging of his new housing.

_“What_ _’s with all of the boxes, Webs?"_

_“I_ _’m moving out, somewhere closer to school._ _”_

_“Whaaaat!? You_ _’re still in school? I thought you were at_ least _in the double-digits._ _”_

_“I_ _’m in college, Wade. I_ _’m twenty-two. And you need to stop watching me through the windows._ _”_

_“Sorry, Petey, I just can_ _’t help myself. I was thinking that lady was a little too old for_ _–“_

_“Shut it, Wade. That_ _’s my aunt._ _”_

_“Ah, alright. So, where_ _are these new digs of yours? Seems like you could use the help of a bulky, muscular, selfless hombre duro to get yourself settled in. Move boxes, maybe even help christen the place up if you know what I_ _’m saying._ _”_

He regretted it, definitely. Or at least, that’s what Peter told himself.

“Come on, baby boy,” Wade chuckled, swinging his legs from his seat on the open window sill, “I’m just having a little fun. You’ve been so _boring_ today!”

“I have homework, Wade.”

He was pretty much finished for the evening, actually. He turned to his laptop and scrolled through a couple of documents before submitting the assignment due at the end of the week. Patrols were light this month, too. Peter found himself feeling a bit bored with the sudden change in pace.

The college student shut down his laptop, peering at himself, and then Wade from the black screen of the electronic device. They were dressed casually, Peter in jeans and a blue sweatshirt and Wade in jeans and a leather jacket with a faux trim hood. The only thing that bothered him a bit, though he was reluctant to admit it, was the fact that the two of them were still both in masks. He shut the laptop gently with one hand.

This was an informal meetup, something that had been relatively new for the duo. They’d met about a month ago just to hang out, but that was fully suited up and on a rooftop, at least a solid ten miles from where Peter was now living. Then again a couple weeks. Then a few days after that, just to get lunch together. Since Wade did help him move in, he’d let the man stay around and hang about the apartment. And again, not but a few days later, he was back, loitering on the window of the fire escape in Peter’s bedroom.

Peter swiveled around in his desk chair. Wade perked up immediately.

“Alright I’m done, what do you want – get off my bed, Wade – what do you want to do?”

Wade tilted his head. He was lying stomach flat on the surface of Peter’s bed on the other side of the room. Not too far, within arm’s reach, as the bedroom wasn’t exactly the largest in the world. Peter considered it a luxury that it even came with a full-sized bed as opposed to a twin.

“Hm. How about we exchange our deepest, darkest secrets,” he loomed, pausing for a second before laughing, “Or we just play truth or dare! Ready? Truth or dare, baby boy?”

Peter rolled his eyes, unseen through the mask, but assumed through the sigh of exasperation with a hint of entertainment.

“Okay, uh,” he considered picking dare for a moment before remembering exactly who he was entertaining. Against better judgement, he decided to do so anyway. “Dare.”

 “I dare you to –“

“You can’t dare me to play carnival.”

“That’s not fair, it’s not your turn!”

“Too bad. That’s my one condition.”

“Hm.” Wade thought for a moment. “I dare you to let me borrow one of your web-shooty-thingies next time we go on patrol!”

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but thought for a minute. It would be funny to see Wade fall off a building again. It’s not like it would hurt him all that badly, and he could always save him if seemed like it would.

“Fine.” Wade pumped a fist in excitement, muttering a quiet ‘yes’ in victory. “Next time we hang out. Not on patrol. Too risky for civilians.”

“Alright, alright. Well, now it’s your turn to ask me, Spidey.” Wade rested his chin in his hands, kicking his legs in the air nonchalantly. “Actually, scratch that. I already picked. Dare!”

_Dare, huh_ , Peter thought. He looked around the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of inspiration. He didn’t have to dare the other to do something stupid to do it – he probably would have done it anyway. He examined the other man’s mask as if he could see his face.

Peter turned his head towards the other.

“I dare you to take off your mask.”

Wade froze, swallowing uneasily. He swung his legs over the front of the bed and planted his feet on the floor with his hands on his knees in a seated position.

“Weren’t you the one who wanted us to wear masks in the first place, kid? Preserve our secret identities, or whatever.” He wrung his hands together. He was wearing black leather gloves, Peter noted. He rode a motorcycle over here, but he hadn’t taken them off.

“Yeah, well,” he rubbed at his neck, “I mean. I’m pretty sure you’re not a manic super villain or anything. If you wanted to hunt me down and kill me you would have already.”

An uneasy quiet filled the room before Wade spoke again.

“I guess you’re right,” he sighed, “But I’m not sure you’re gonna like what’s under here, Petey. I may have a killer body and an even more charming personality, but I’m not completely perfect.”

“Yeah, but. A dare’s a dare, isn’t it, Wade?” He challenged.

The older man exhaled heavily. “Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

In one smooth motion, the former mercenary peeled off his mask, bunching it up and shoving it in his pocket in a calm, if not slightly frustrated, manner.

Peter said nothing as he examined Wade’s face. He almost didn’t believe he’d taken off his mask. Scars and pock marks littered his face, no hair, but dark features shading over where he’d imagine thick, but groomed eyebrows would be, cloudy amber eyes looking in any direction but his own. Though marred, he could clearly see the frame of what once was a clear, strong jawline, straight, white teeth that maybe once had a dashing smile peeking out in an anxious grimace.

Strange as either would have though, he didn’t feel repulsed. There was a flicker of something strong - admiration for his strength? Sympathy for his discomfort? Endearment that he’d trusted to share with him something he didn’t seem to share with any other, at least not in such an honest way? Peter decided that he was just hungry.

“Look, alright, you can quit your staring. The mask goes back on now.”

Wade reached for his pocket, but Peter furrowed his brow. Without reply, he raised his hand to his face, lifting up his own mask and tossing it on top of his desk. Wade instinctively averted his eyes to the side, but couldn’t help but peer back as the younger man smoothed his unruly brown hair.

He kind of looked how Wade had expected, but he couldn’t stop his throat from going dry when he caught a glimpse at the two stupidly doe-like brown eyes looking right back at him. Those stupid pink lips, stupid cheekbones that made handsome that stupid round, youthful, beautiful face –

Wade, cleared his throat. Yeah, he was fucked alright.


	5. Borrowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrols were never going to be easy, even if they weren't necessarily difficult. Wade can't really get hurt the same way Peter can, but that doesn't stop him from being concerned. In a platonic way, of course. For his partner in justice. Totally platonic.
> 
> "What else do you need to borrow?" "How about a kiss?"

Wade's body hit the roof of the building with loud thud, a sharp groan of discomfort cutting through the noisy business of the streets below.

Even with the healing factor, large open wounds and electricity didn’t mix. After a particularly brutal gang showdown, the amazing Spider-Man’s agility was able to spare him the same fate. Wade wasn’t as fortunate. He drew ragged breaths, twitching hard as Peter kneeled over him.

“Hey, hey, you’re fine, we’re out,” Peter coaxed, a hint of panic in his voice. He lifted his palms in an easing gesture. “Relax, you’re gonna heal in a second. Calm down."

“What are you, _ngh_ , talking about? I’ve never – _motherfucker!_ _–_ I’ve never been better!” Wade shouted through gritted teeth, writhing in the pool of blood that was beginning to form underneath him.

He could feel his own flesh regenerating, sealing the wounds that had been opened by machine guns, hunting knives, that _god damn fucking piece of shit taser._ No taser should have ever been that _motherfucking_ strong.

A few more moments passed, and Wade’s breathing slowed as his injuries healed. Broken bones, he could handle easily. Severed limbs, he could do with grace. Electrocution on top of spilled guts? A little less of a field day.

Peter examined Wade’s body in apprehension, smearing blood away from the woundless areas underneath the torn points in his suit. _That_ _’s insane,_ he thought. He wondered how much it hurt, and frowned.

“Are you … Are you alright? Can you stand?” He asked.

Wade pushed himself up, grunting as he sat up. He cracked his neck, then leaned back and looked at the sky. A little sore, as he expected, but nothing that wouldn’t pass within the next day. Peter put a hand on his shoulder, and he almost opened his mouth to reassure him that he really was fine. He decided against it.

“I’m fine.” Wade nodded, turning towards him.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded again, but Peter’s hand remained.

“But my bike got trashed back there. I’m gonna have to call a cab, I think.”

“Do you even have any cash on you for that?”

“Why would I need cash?”

“Do you know how cabs work around here, Wade?”

Peter crossed his arms, standing up from where he was kneeling. Wade stood in response, a hand on his own knee to steady himself. The leather on his leg was torn and drooping. The entire suit was in tatters. At least he had a couple of backups stashed away back at his apartment. He reached for his cellphone, which should have been in one of the small pouches on his utility belt. What he got instead was a tattered piece of cheap metal with a few remaining rhinestones sticking to it.

“I may need to borrow a few things, Spidey.”

Peter sighed, placing a hand on his hip. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Back to normal, Wade seemed.

“My phone and my wallet are back at my apartment.”

A pause.

“I have some clothes that might fit you. They’ll be small, but you’re going to have to deal.”

Another pause.

“What else do you need to borrow?”

“How about a kiss?”

A sigh. Wade completely didn’t expect the other to roll up his mask and place a single haphazard peck on his masked cheek before turning towards the south end of the building. If his skin weren’t so scarred, and if he weren’t wearing a mask, a very unmanly rush of blood to his face would have revealed the shock the action brought to him.

“Are you coming, or will I have to haul your ass back home, you big baby?”

That electrocution seemed like just a tiny little spark, now. Wade followed.


	6. Boyfriend Material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What kind of material is this?" "I want you to guess."
> 
> Wade's pick-up lines may be getting progressively shittier, but progress is progress. Peter's resolve hasn't weakened, but his interests definitely seemed to have been piqued in a decisively less intelligent direction.
> 
> **A/N at the end of the chapter

The city was bustling, just like every other weekend afternoon. Cars rushed by, the streets were flooded with people walking, on their phones, holding hands, selling one cheap product or another.

The intense growling of the motorbike thrummed through Peter’s ears even through the borrowed helmet, and he tightened his grip around Wade’s waist.

“You good back there, Spidey?”

Wade shouted, not looking back at his younger passenger, but tilted his head back so he could be heard.

“Yeah.” 

The response, though brief, seemed to satisfy the man. Wade turned his full attention back to the street, revving his bike and turning another corner before finally pulling up to some back-alley area where there was no door number and a hardly visible entrance. He kicked off the engine and waited until Peter was off the bike until dismounting it himself, lowering the stand and removing his helmet. He flipped his hood up. 

This wasn’t exactly Wade’s _apartment_ , per say. That one was shared with a rather eccentric roommate who never quite seemed to leave. Though their relationship was quite endearing, Wade was sure that the old blind woman could live fine without him for a few days at a time. She probably barely noticed.

“This is one of my safe houses. Probably the cleanest one.”

Peter nodded, following behind the other man as he entered some kind of code into a keypad. A beeping noise followed, and he walked through the heavy-looking door.

It wasn’t fancy by any means. But it was nice, as Wade had said. From walking in, Peter could see a small living area occupied with a couch and a television, old magazines – or what could have been coloring books – littering the coffee table. A kitchen, mostly unused it seemed. A dining room with dust collecting on the surface of the table. A door to what he assumed was a bathroom, and a staircase in the back

“Home number three, sweet home.” Wade said.

“Number three?” Peter asked, “Where’s one and two?"

“One is messy,” Wade reasoned, “And if I told you where two was, I’d have to kill you." 

Peter decided that he was joking, but didn’t question further.

“You hungry? Thirsty?”

“Kind of thirsty, I guess. What’s upstairs?”

Wade sauntered into the kitchen, examining the contents of the fridge for a moment before retrieving a juice box and tossing it towards the other. Peter caught it. He took out a beer for himself and shut the door.

“Bathroom. Office. Bonus room. I have a couple different stashes up there.” He responded, turning towards Peter and raising an eyebrow suggestively, “And the bedroom.”

Peter scoffed.

“So, not much, I guess?”

Wade chuckled, “Real funny, Webs. Maybe if you’re an extra good boy, you’ll get a ticket into it someday.”

“Sounds thrilling.” Peter poked the straw into the box. It was apple.

“Oh, baby, it’s better than it sounds.”

Peter almost jumped when he felt a hand slap his ass. He almost spilled his juice.

“Wade!”

“What? Couldn’t help it.”

Peter was actually there because he agreed to show Wade a couple of the devices he engineered for his first Spider-Man suit. Although his new one was made by Stark Industries, Tony was good at preserving a good amount of the elements he’d used in creating it. The web shooters were based on his original formula for it, but enhanced to be stronger and last longer before dissolving. There was a new interface in the mask, but Peter often chose to not use it in favor of simplicity – city patrols were typically nothing special, and he didn’t need the extreme features. He did appreciate the options, though. Maybe in the future. 

Wade’s suit was made out of leather. Apparently, he had a ‘friend’, someone who worked closely with him while he was still in the mercenary business, who’d helped him make it. He’d brought up a point with Peter not but a few days ago, complaining how the tears were so tedious to fix after every fight, and of the inflexibility. Of course, he’d also complained that there was ‘so little crotch space to fit all of it in’, but that specific comment was ignored. 

“Show me your suit.”

“My birthday suit? God, I thought you’d never ask –“

“Wade, come on.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re no fun.”

The sound of footsteps sounded across the room before Wade gestured for him to follow. He led him upstairs to a dimly lit room, with a couple of shelves and a safe in the corner along with some bags that littered the floor.

Wade opened one of the drawers near the door, pulling out the red and black suit and a matching mask. There was a few tactical belts left in there, something that looked like a very technical bracelet. He handed the suit to Peter.

“Well, I mean,” Peter said, examining the article, “If you want more flexibility, you’re going to want to use a fabric with more stretch. Like a spandex, or something of that derivative. But that’s not going to give the same protection, so you’re going to want to line it with something.” He turned it over, feeling the black padding over the chest area. “What kind of material is this?”

Wade suppressed a snort. Peter raised an eyebrow.

“I want you to guess.” He took the suit and held it up against himself as if he were modeling it.

“Um. Leather with, ah, Kevlar?”

“No.” Wade snickered. “Try again.”

“I don’t know, some kind of ballistic nylon?” Peter reached out to touch the fabric.

“Boyfriend material.”

Peter breathed in. Then he breathed out and closed his eyes as if he were about it reprimand a rowdy toddler. Essentially, he thought, he was. However, whether it be because of the generous offering of juice boxes or the air of comfort and even homeliness that seemed to surround him when the two were hanging out together, he couldn't find the frustration to be able to tell him off for it. It was the opposite, actually - he found himself wanting to be even just that much more close. He cleared his throat.

“I can talk to Tony about it. I’m sure he probably knows a little more about suits than I do.”

“Come on, Spidey,” Wade basically purred, slowly backing them into the wall next to the open doorway, “That was a good one.”

Peter’s back hit the wall with a quiet thump. Wade’s hand touched against the side of the wall next to his head, and Peter felt himself drop the suit. He didn’t realize he was holding it at all. Wade’s breath was warm on his face.

“Wait, Wade, I –" 

The older man leaned in until his lips were brushing against Peter’s ear. “I like it when you say my name, baby boy.” 

Peter shuddered. “Wade, are you actually being –“ His breath caught in his throat when he felt teeth graze the side of his neck, and his hand moved to touch Wade’s chest, “Are you being serious?”

“Oh, I’m so fucking serious right now.” His voice vibrated against the skin of Peter’s neck.

Peter couldn’t even think about the offer when he was caught so off guard like that. His body seemed to decide for him. Truthfully, so had his mind with the things he daydreamed about. Denial seemed like a further and further away option when the heat between their two bodies was almost unbearable. The alleged anti-hero pulled back as if to remind him.

“So what do you say? You think you --?"

This time, Wade was cut off by Peter, who leaned forward to press their lips together indelicately. The hand on his collar yanked Wade down by the shirt. Wade shoved forward in response once the initial shock had dissolved into hunger, growling hotly at the feeling of Peter’s hands roaming his chest. He found his own gravitating downward toward his hips when the kiss was abruptly ended.

The second Wade opened his eyes, Peter had already ducked underneath his arms, picking up the suit and heading out the door.

“I’m taking this with me. There’s a few minor details I think I can improve for tomorrow’s patrol.”

“Wait, hold – whoa, so, is that a yes?” Wade called after him.

“See you tomorrow, Wade. My place at nine, patrol at ten. Bring food.”

Wade grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, my posting consistency is weak! I apologize for that, but school is really biting me in the ass right now, and not even in a good way. But that's six chapters down, nine more to go! Thanks for reading!


	7. Paying Rent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It only takes fifty rounds of Super Smash Bros Melee and a few instances of stark humiliation before Peter realizes that a certain Merc with a Mouth has begun to rub off on him. Spider with some Sass, they should call him. Actually, wait, no they shouldn't.
> 
> "Just don't stick around too long, or I'm going to have to ask you to pay rent."
> 
> "You should be the one paying rent with all the time you spend on my mind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psych, there's nothing naughty in this one. Just nice. I'm a sucker for Christmas. We'll get there soon enough! Thanks for keeping up! Happy Holidays.

“Do you have any videogames?” 

Peter nestled himself in the beanbag chair, speaking towards the owner of the television and scattered game consoles which he was eyeing intently. Patrol was already over for the evening, but that didn’t stop the two red and black suited superhuman duo from spending some downtime together at the end of a Friday night. Wade tugged down on the hem of his white t-shirt as he finished pulling it on, shutting the bathroom door behind and cutting off the warm tendrils of steam that followed him from his earlier shower. 

“Yeah. And I’m totally gonna kick your ass at them all for using up all of my hot water earlier.” 

The next couple of hours were spent consuming a multitude of juice boxes and alcohol, and a series of small scale verbal clashes over who was _really_ winning that match of Super Smash Bros Melee.

Peter tossed his controller onto the floor in triumph as he blasted Wade’s character, Princess Peach of all things, into the sky. He leaned back casually in the bean bag, side-eyeing Wade with a shit-eating grin if the former mercenary had ever seen one.

Wade scoffed. “Psh, whatever. Cheater.”

“Cheater?” Peter asked, incredulously. “I didn’t cheat! I’m just better at this than you are.”

“No way, kid,” Wade shook his head, “You’re just cheating.”

“How am I cheating?”

Wade opened his mouth, the start of his rebuttal starting, but ultimately falling flat when he realized he didn’t have anything to say. He crossed his arms.

“You’re _distracting_ me!”

“How am I distracting you? I wasn’t even talking.”

 _By looking like that, you adorable little piece of ass_ , Wade thought. Not that he’d say that aloud.

“Wh-What?”

_Fuck._

“What?”

“What did you just call me?”

_Shit. Fuck._

“Sorry Webs, but I have to go powder my nose right quick! I’ll be back in a second, try not to miss me too much!”

Before Peter could continue to make that shocked face at him, Wade quickly made a beeline towards the closest available exit. He shut the door of his bedroom behind him and leaned against it. His hands rose to hold the sides of his head, those stupid little voices pestering him in a mixture of humiliation and adrenaline. 

_God, I can_ _’t believe I said that. The kid_ _’s probably totally freaked out now._

_[You totally just missed your shot, man, he_ _’s definitely weirded out.]_

_{What was that anyway? You_ _’re not the type to get this nervous. What_ _’s this kid doing to you?}_

_[Doesn_ _’t matter now. You_ _’re lucky if he_ _’s still even out there right now.]_

A knock to the other side of the door startled him.

“Wade?”

He was a former mercenary. He’d killed hundreds of people. He’d gone through unimaginable torture. He was immortal. Why couldn’t he talk to some goody-two shoes college kid who wore spandex for fun?

Wade inhaled, held it, and breathed out heavily. The door swung open.

“Sorry there, Petey, when duty calls – you know.”

_{Ha, yeah, he’ll totally believe that you just urgently had to deuce out your feelings.}_

_[Shit joke? Really? Not your best save.]_

Wade cleared his throat, maneuvering around the confused superhero and reseating himself inelegantly in his bean bag chair.

Peter wasn’t quite sure what he’d heard. Actually, that was a lie – he very clearly heard himself being described as a distracting, adorable piece of ass. The part about his ass was expected, but the new choice in adjectives and the newfound fluster was different. He was flattered, to be quite honest. These past few months of really getting to know each other, and he’d never seen a side of Wade that wasn’t innuendos, sarcasm, or just plain quirkiness.

Thinking about the compliment made his stomach feel weird. And this time, it definitely wasn’t just hunger.

Instead of bringing it back up, he simply sat down again.

Without words, something that Wade was hardly ever without, the older of the two booted up another match. He picked Kirby. Peter chose Sheik.

A few more rounds and the banter had picked up yet again.

Two more matches and a few nudges and elbows ensued.

By the fifth round, Wade picked Mr. Game n’ Watch, and Peter was playing as Marth. Wade nudged Peter a little too roughly, causing Peter to instinctively spring back and indelicately launch himself back at the other.

Peter’s controller hit the ground with a thump and the whooshing sound of his character getting kicked from the battlefield sounded on the screen, but it seemed rather silent in comparison to the simple breathing of the superhuman duo as Peter hovered over Wade’s face. Neither spoke for a solid ten seconds before Wade cleared his throat.

“Cheater. Just like I said before.”

Peter couldn’t suppress the flush that crept onto his cheeks. He opened his mouth to protest when the chime of a text message cut through the building tension.

“Ah, I hate to be the party pooper to whatever hot and heavy situation we got goin’ on here, but I have to get that.”

Peter shifted back, shuffling slightly further away than necessary. Despite the controlled reply, Wade didn’t dare to maintain eye contact with his house guest in any way as he reached across the floor to examine his phone screen.

“Looks like duty calls for real this time.” He couldn’t hide the tinge of disappointment in his voice. He risked a glance towards Peter, who seemed to be looking anywhere but back at him. “I have to head out tonight. I’m gonna go ahead and suit up. Mind shutting down the Gamecube for me? Apparently, every time you leave an electronic on, you’re killing a polar bear! They’re pretty much just huge, white snow labradors. Love those guys.”

Peter nodded, and Wade exited the room to don his suit.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ Peter thought, reprimanding himself. It was better when Wade was the embarrassed one.

He’d just clicked the off button on the television when Wade reentered, strapping two sheathed katanas to his back with practiced ease. Peter could see the reflection of snow outside the window from the darkness of the screen.

“I’d invite you along, but this is hardly the job for an Avenger-ling like you to be wanted to stick around for.”

Wade kneeled next to Peter, who lowered his brows in suspicion. “You said you didn’t kill anymore.”

“And I don’t!” Wade said, defensively. “This is just personal, kid. I should be back sometime tomorrow morning.” He paused. “But hey, Petey?” Peter turned to face him. “Hate to leave you here. You can stick around for as long as you want to, I have food downstairs and my bedroom is just over there. Just don’t stick around too long, or I’m going to have to ask you to pay rent.”

Wade chuckled weakly as he propped open the window to the fire escape.

“You should be the one paying rent with all the time you spend on my mind.”

Peter shot back the absolutely shitty one-liner without hesitation. The embarrassment only sunk in a moment after. Whether he said it to make the other feel better after his own slip-up earlier, or to lighten the mood, or if the other had simply been rubbing off on him. An all-too-familiar pink flush crept up the younger man’s cheeks.

And then Wade laughed. A pleasant, breathy laugh that hardly masked an already masked grin.

“Touché, baby boy.”

Wade shut the window behind him. Peter stood and walked towards the bedroom.


	8. Falling For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extreme embarrassment and extreme fear aren't the only two emotions Peter can feel, but they sure seem like it. Maybe one was realistically more of a near-death experience than the other, but hey, sometimes it's hard to differentiate.
> 
> "I'm coming down now! Hold on!"
> 
> "I can't hold on Spidey-kins! I've already fallen for -- !"
> 
> **A/N at the end of the chapter

Peter woke up to the sound of his alarm clock after what he could only guess was the third or fourth time he’d hit snooze. There was no class that day, but there was no excuse for sleeping in until noon every time that was the case. Perhaps another, less responsible student would feel that it were, but not your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

He sat up with a groan, running long fingers through longer, more tangled hair. He felt guilty for even calling himself responsible after what he’d done only a few days ago.

_“Hate to leave you here. You can stick around for as long as you want to, I have food downstairs and my bedroom is just over there. Just don’t stick around too long, or I’m going to have to ask you to pay rent.”_

_“You should be the one paying rent with all the time you spend on my mind.”_

_“Touché, baby boy.”_

The college student cringed. That wasn’t even the worst of it. Once the window had shut, leaving him alone in the apartment for what seemed to be the remainder of the night, Peter simply turned off the television, meandering towards the bedroom for what he intended on being a quick peek. Out of curiosity, of course.

He recalled every detail of Wade’s bedroom, the most prominent being out surprisingly nice it was. Deep red walls and lush carpeting created a much more homely space than what he expected. A queen sized bed sat centered against one wall, sleek black sheets and two pillows sitting atop a flawlessly laid duvet. When he’d approached it to sit upon the mattress, again, for purely research purposes, the intricate velvet designs were even smoother under his hand than he could have imagined. Upon further examination, the room was distinctly lacking the piles of garbage, obscene paraphernalia, and dirty laundry that he’d expected. Replacing it was a dresser, a wardrobe, two bookshelves fully stocked, and a nightstand. The wood was dark and impeccably polished, the dresser decorated with a single disassembled pistol and the nightstand with a small electronic alarm clock. Overall, it seemed pristine, yet barren. Where were the pictures? What was in the wardrobe? And most importantly, were they booby-trapped?

Kicking his legs over the edge of the bed, Peter stumbled towards the bathroom, shedding his pullover on his way and tossing it on the bed. He stared back at his face in the mirror, but couldn’t help wondering about one that wasn’t his own.

Did those scars hurt? Were they all over his body, or simply his hands and face? What would his bare chest look like?

As his thoughts began to trail off in a slightly more indecent direction, Peter splashed cold water on his face, brushing his teeth before looking down at his own near-naked body. Smooth, almost hairless skin met his glance, lean muscles taut underneath it. He was skinny, and rather light, yes. His strength was hardly reflected in his musculature, but he found it rather pleasing that way. It preserved his identity just that much more, and it allowed him an element of surprise in many of his dangerous encounters. No one ever expected a 5’8”, maybe 140-something pound guy to be able to lift a semi. He chuckled to himself as he pushed the shower curtain back and turned the faucet, steam filling the room in no time from the heat of the water.

Pressing his head against the tiles, he closed his eyes, feeling the hot water rush over his back.

He recalled himself scanning the walls of Wade’s bedroom, his eyelids getting heavier with each passing second as his conscience told him to pack up and leave before he was too tired to swing home. He of course ignored that voice, opting to lay back on the bed to rest for a moment instead. The next thing he’d remembered, though, was waking up to Wade’s shuffling about the bedroom dresser.

_“_ _Up already, sleeping beauty?_ _”_

_Peter woke with a start, shaking the covers from his body and backing up against the headboard. Wade was standing at the foot of the bed in a pair of sweatpants and a black tee. Thick, scarred arms absolutely rippling with muscle were holding a pair of jeans and what looked like another tee shirt._

_“_ _Wade! Hey! Wow, I mean_ _–_ _uh, hello? Good morning!_ _”_

_The former mercenary laughed, watching amusedly as the Peter quickly stood from the bed as if that could fool Wade into thinking he hadn_ _’_ _t slept in his bed last night._

_“_ _Good morning._ _”_

_They stood in awkward silence for the next passing moment. Awkward for Peter, at least, who was blushing up to his ears._

_“_ _I_ _’_ _m sorry, it was so late last night and I guess I didn_ _’_ _t even make it out the door before I fell asleep! What time is it? Did I startle you by mistake? I shouldn_ _’_ _t have stayed too late I know, I didn_ _’_ _t mean to. Oh god, it didn_ _’_ _t bother you too much, did it? I mean_ _…_ _God, I hope I didn_ _’_ _t snore._ _”_

_Again, a heavy chortle did little to dissolve the sense of humiliation Peter had. Wade smiled._

_“_ _I, um. I slept on the couch last night, Peter._ _”_

Peter banged his head against the shower wall.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

Thankfully, Wade was the one who texted Peter about a new mission that night. In truth, Peter didn’t know if he could face the other man any time soon with how embarrassed he’d been. Or, how embarrassed he still was.

Nevertheless, Spider-Man and Deadpool met one block from Peter’s apartment at seven o’clock sharp that night atop the roof of a tall, brick building.

“Hey there, baby boy! Come here often?”

Peter sighed heavily, partially in exasperation and partially in relief. It’s what he expected, nothing new. That in itself was a weight off his shoulders. Maybe Wade had forgotten.

“Hello, Wade. How are you?”

Good. Professional. Peter’s pulse never ceased its panic.

After a few more bouts of dialogue, Wade told Peter that he’d been tipped off about a notorious drug dealer being spotted in this very specific, very isolated, and very deep alleyway, and of his expected appearance tonight at a very specific time with a very specific audience of one simple, unassuming kid in need of specifically superhuman assistance.

No, not suspicious at all.

Well, maybe not for the first ten minutes of waiting. At the fifteen minute mark of watching Wade twiddling his thumbs next to Peter, the suspicion kicked, full gear.

“Wade, who exactly tipped you off on this?”

“Ah, a friend. A trustworthy friend.”

“By the name of… ?”

“Uh. Ryan.”

“Ryan, who?”

An awkward throat-clearing. “Aw, are you jealous of my time with other boys, Petey-Pie? Well, I’ll have you know that you’re my number one, always and forever –“

“Wade.”

“Yes, honey buns?”

“There’s no drug dealer, is there?”

There was a beat of silence, and Wade peeked down into the alleyway from his seated position on the edge of the roof. The towards Peter, who was standing with his feet apart and hands on his hips expectantly, a few yards away. Then to the alley. Then to Peter. Then the alley.

“Well, I don’t _see_ them right now, but I’m sure that they –“

“Wade!”

Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh, or slap Wade. He settled for both. Which proved to be a very poor decision.

Not expected the impact so quickly, Wade’s position atop the roof quickly shifted from the ledge to the air. Deft hands and strong fingers caught a window ledge one floor down, and there Wade dangled as Peter leaped to the edge, peering over with a startled yelp.

“Ah! Wade! Wait, just – just stay there! I’ll come get you!”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere! I’m just! Chilling here! It’s great!”

Wade’s voice was strained with panic as his grip slipped quicker than he could regain it. Yes, he could survive the remained nine story drop. But he didn’t want to have to reassemble his whole skeleton tonight, especially not in front of Spider-Man. Maybe he should have just asked him on a date instead of inviting him to such a nice alleyway under false pretenses.

“Okay, okay! I’m coming down now! Hold on!”

“Ah, haha!” A ragged laugh, split between nervousness and genuine humor startled Peter enough to pause his actions. “I can’t hold on, Spidey-kins! I’ve already fallen for -- !”

Wade’s grip gave, and the both figuratively and physically dense Deadpool fell.

Too shocked to respond or even hold back a short scream, Peter dove after him, webbing a nearby wall and Wade’s ankles as quickly as his reflexes allowed him to.

It seemed like it never happened when Peter’s feet touched the ground, Wade’s head inches from the ground and suspended there by his left ankle, which was bent at what could have only been a very, very wrong angle.

Peter heaved, ripping off his mask and panting as he crouched over. Wade unsheathed a katana from his back, ripping the web and hitting the ground with a thud and a quiet “ow”. He sat up and cracked his ankle back into place with arguably one of the most sickening sounds Peter had ever heard in his life.

“Oh my GOD, Wade! Are you – ? Is your ankle --?” Peter’s eyes were wide as his fragmented questions poured from his mouth. He suddenly stopped, watching the merc-with-a-mouth stand up and casually brush himself off. “What the hell!?”

“Okay, so. I know you have some questions.” Wade raised his hands, palms toward the hero as if that would calm him down. “But first of all, I am uninjured! Mostly! So thank you. My hero!” Peter frowned, brows furrowed in anger. Wade coughed. “Ah, about the mission. Yeah, there might maybe not have been a fake or real drug dealer at this exact location tonight. Maybe.”

“Then why did you text me about one?” Peter rested a hand on his hip, pinching the bridge of his nose between two gloved fingers.

“I wanted to spend time with you?”

“Wade, I’m serious!”

Deadpool’s mask was ripped off and thrown to the ground, the only thing underneath an expression on Wade that Peter was only somewhat familiar with. “So am I! I didn’t know if you’d want to hang out after what happened last time and I wanted to see you again!” The shouting surprised even Wade after the words left his mouth.

Peter’s posture straightened, opening his mouth before closing it promptly and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Oh,” he said, lamely.

“Yeah. So.” Wade swallowed. “Yeah.”

“I would’ve, um. I would’ve just come over if you wanted me to. Or, uh. You could’ve come over.” Peter scratched the back of his head nervously. “I wouldn’t have minded. I wanted to see you again, too.”

It was Wade’s turn to offer a quiet “oh”.

Peter took a step closer. “Uh, we can go back to my apartment now. We should probably check out that ankle, right?”

“I mean, it was a clean break, so it’s not that bad. I think it’s actually already –“ Wade stopped himself. “Uh, yeah, that sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey! So, it's been a fat minute. Lots of real life things I have to get done have gotten so far in the way of this project, but I am still going strong, I assure you! Just a quick update before I can get back into the swing of the story. Thanks for sticking with it, guys.


	9. Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you a mirror? Because I can totally see myself inside of you."
> 
> Wade makes himself at home in a place that isn't actually his home - what else is new? Well, something definitely must be, because Peter's never actually wanted those stupid pick-up lines enough to ask for one. At least, not until now.
> 
> *WARNING: Explicit content in this chapter.  
> *A/N at the end of chapter.

The next mission Wade and Peter went on was, in fact, a real one. And not only was it real, but a real, real bad one for Peter. 

As the door to his apartment shut behind him, Peter dropped his keys onto the floor. Normally, this extraordinarily agile superhero wouldn’t do anything of the sort – he’d swung from sky-scraper to sky-scraper, done backflips and all sorts of gymnastic feats easier than one could walk and chew gum at the same time. He frowned heavily, swinging his right hand lazily at the ground with his free arm. The other one sat uselessly in a sling, wrapped in a thick plaster cast. Now, he could bend down and pick up the item, but the same type of plaster wrapped about his left leg prevented his knee from bending.

Grunting angrily at the lost cause, Peter kicked the keys away and hobbled on his single crutch into the living room.

He could break the damn casts as easily as snapping a saltine in half if he wanted to. And how badly he wanted to. But the last mission ended with not just a group of hitmen, but a small plane piloted by a single hitman knocking the hero not just to the ground – of course not – but off of a building. And into a bus.

Peter considered the probability of the event occurring, and could only deduce that he was very, very unlucky for that to happen.

But he also considered the likelihood of him even surviving without his powers. Zero.

A couple of casts for what he guessed would be a couple of weeks tops with his healing factor was a small price to pay for being able to keep his limbs, and more importantly, his life.

The door was thrown open, startling Peter from his attempt to sit.

“Honey, I’m home!”

The sound of the door slamming shut was followed by the sound of a bag hitting the floor and heavy footsteps toward the couch. Peter simply ignored them as he eased himself onto the cushions of his mediocre sofa. He landed with a pained grumble, earning a look of concern from the former-mercenary who was now leaning over the couch and Peter’s head, touching the tips of their noses together.

“How’s my itsy-bitsy spider, hm?” Wade questioned, “Feeling any better?”

“My arm is fractured in six places and my femur is shattered,” Peter rolled his eyes, “So yeah, I feel great.”

Wade straightened and Peter turned his head to see him from the corner of his eye. He wasn’t in his suit, but a pair of dark jeans and a grey hooded sweatshirt. He’d already removed his shoes by the door, just as Peter had told him to do from the start of his daily visits four days ago.

“Hey, hey, don’t yell at me for asking how my lover is!”

“Wade, we’re not lovers.”

The older man circled around the couch, crossing his arms with a huff and gently sitting down on the couch next to Peter.

“That’s not what you said last night.”

Peter rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

“That’s exactly what I said last night,” he laughed. “When you said the same exact thing.”

“Okay, you got me there.” Wade smiled. Peter liked his smile. “I’d like to know how you’re doing, though. Which you didn’t answer, by the way – how are you holding up, Petey?”

Peter sighed. “I’m fine. Or, I will be, in a couple of weeks.”

“How about right now?” Wade pushed, leaning in towards Peter.

“Honestly,” Peter leaned in, almost closing the distance between the two, “Pretty annoyed. And a little hungry.”

Wade laughed again, getting up off of the couch and heading for the kitchen. Peter turned his head to watch him rummage through the fridge before settling on a couple of takeout boxes and setting them on the counter.

“You good with leftovers, baby boy?”

“Always.”

 

* * *

 

A day under two weeks had passed, and other than a bit of lingering soreness in his damaged limbs, Peter was feeling fine. Fine enough to do a mission. And to his joy, fine enough to absolutely nail his mission. Not only had he busted an illegal weapons deal that night, but caught a meet-up of some major players in one of the city’s largest ring. He webbed up exactly fourteen criminals for the police, including the prime suspect for the group’s ringleader. 

With a sense of pride in his chest and a skip in his step, he swung home more than satisfied. He could celebrate, but the final he had tomorrow said otherwise. A shower, some food, and a warm bed it was.

A shiver went through Peter as he shut his bedroom window behind him. It was the middle of December, and the city air had begun to turn frigid and laced with sharp winds. He stripped off his suit and entered his shower, teeth chattering as he turned the knob to the hottest he could stand.

The water ran down his back, and he sighed contently. As he soaked in the warmth of the hot water, he felt more relaxed than he had in a long while.

That was, until, the bathroom door swung open.

“Hey Petey! So I was in the neighborhood and – “

“WADE!”

Doing his best to cover his body the best he could, Peter crossed his arms over his torso, turning away from his unapologetically intrusive guests. He was glad for the steam that fogged up the glass door, even though it was failing to cover everything he wanted it to.

“Hm? Oh, perfect timing! You’re naked.”

“Uh, yeah!” Peter shouted, flustered, “That’s typically how people are when they shower!”

“Damn, that ass _does_ look even better when it’s wet.”

“Wade! Get out of my bathroom!”

“But it’s nice and steamy in here. You know, it’s awfully cold out there.” Wade leaned against the door frame casually, the swords on his back clinking against the wall. “The funniest thing happened to me on the way here! So, there’s this patch of ice on the road, and this guy pulls out of this – “

“Wade!” Peter’s face flushed redder than Deadpool’s suit. “I’m naked! I’m taking a shower! Get out of my bathroom!”

“Okay, I see you’re point. But!” Wade raised his palms defensively. “I wanted to check up on you and what I’m seeing now is the perfect opportunity to do so!”

“I don’t think that!”

“No, no, you see,” Wade dropped his weapons to the floor outside the bathroom door, his mask and boots following in suit, “I just wanted to make sure that you’ve healed all the way before over-exerting yourself. We can’t all have that Deadpool healing factor, or else no one would ever die and the world would shit itself into extinction because there would be so many bodies that the planet would look like the un-sexiest mosh pit you could imagine.”

“You have to check up on me right this second?”

“Well, I supposed if I ‘have to’, I can’t argue with that – “

“Wade, seriously. I need privacy, you can’t just –!”

“Let me help you in there.”

Normally, Peter would have said no almost immediately. But there was sincerity in Wade’s tone was rare, and he hesitated.

For the past few days, while the constant flirty and pestering and generally inappropriate behavior hadn’t nearly stopped, that same tone had come out more than Peter had expected. The same tone at Wade’s house, in that ally the other week. Something pure and sincere that made his stomach feel like it was full of helium. Something that made Peter want to call their relationship something more.

He could think about that later, though. Always later.

“I don’t need help, I’m healed.”

“No, actually, you’re not.” Wade said, conversationally. “I watched you do that bust tonight. You weren’t as fast as you normally were, I was surprised you got out of there unscathed.”

Peter froze. “You were watching me?”

“Yeah. Couldn’t have you getting banged up right after you healed up, could I?”

“Why didn’t you come help or something?”

“I knew you could do it on your own. And it’s been a while since you’ve been out there.” Wade said, “Common courtesy. Just looking out.”

There was a beat of silence.

“But you could hurt yourself indefinitely running around right after you heal up. You’re going to make the process longer if you fight it.”

Peter swallowed. More silence. The water rushed down Peter’s shoulders as he faintly noted the dull aching in his previously broken bones.

“Take it easy tonight. Let me help you out in there.”

Against all better judgement, Peter sighed, defeated.

“Okay.”

Wade was unable to hold back his childish shout of triumph, to which Peter quickly addressed.

“But no funny business! Watch where those hands go, and keep your eyes where they should be.”

“Fine, fine.”

The sound of Wade’s suit and remaining clothes hit the ground, and Peter’s heart skipped a beat.

The two had kissed before, had spent months flirting. But they weren’t even officially together as a couple, much less crossed any physical boundaries. He didn’t have time to rethink his decision before the anti-hero climbed into the shower and closed the door behind him.

Even face to face, Peter wasn’t afraid of Wade, despite his size and stature. The man was big, and muscular. That much was undeniable. Still crossing his arms over his body protectively, Peter’s eyes skipped across Wade’s broad chest, appreciating how the water hit the scarred skin, rivulets cascading out in different directions, some drops bouncing off the taut surface and dripping down defined, thick ropes of muscle. 

“Hey, my eyes are up here.”

Peter furrowed his brow, prepared to roll his eyes before meeting those of his uninvited company. Sporting a cocky smirk, the other man raised an eyebrow (or, where an eyebrow would be) and tilted his head slightly.

Peter scoffed, handing Wade the shampoo haphazardly before turning around and facing the opposite direction.

Half-expecting to have to swat the other man’s hands away, Peter tensed up as he heard the cap click open and shut. He was pleasantly surprised to feel two large hands in his hair just a moment later, massaging the shampoo into his scalp with surprising gentleness. He felt a small hum of appreciation leave his throat, more grateful for the contact than he thought he’d be.

After rinsing out his hair, Wade repeated the process with the bottle of conditioner sitting next to where the shampoo had been. After that, he picked up a smaller bottle of body wash.

Peter almost tensed up again when he felt two slippery hands grip his shoulders, squeezing and massaging them in ways he didn’t realize could feel so good. The pain in his arm flared up only for a moment before it began to fade into a light tingle. Only when the hands drifted to his lower back did Peter clear his throat awkwardly.

Peter looked over his shoulder. “I think I can get the rest from here. But if you want to shower since you’re here, you can go ahead.”

Wade nodded, and if his good behavior wasn’t shocking enough, turned the other way to complete the task. Peter was almost disappointed.

Rinsing off the lather of soap on his skin, Peter quickly exited the shower and reached for his towel. Shutting the glass door behind him with a soft click, he turned back for a moment, just to make sure it had closed. Wade’s silhouette was filled out with an absolute hulking mass of muscle, even when obscured by the steam of the shower. Maybe it was because he was so close, or because Peter was without a suit, or maybe even because Wade was without a suit, but he just looked so much… Larger? That was the only word Peter was willing to think, his face flushing as he turned on his heel to exit the bathroom towards the hallway closet.

Peter tucked his towel around his waist, running slim fingers through soggy locks of brown hair which trailed streams of water down his naked back. Rummaging through the sweaters he kept on the top shelf, he pulled a large towel down and draped it over his arms. He heard the sound of the faucet squeaking off and the water stop running.

“Wade, I brought you a – “ Peter froze. “A towel.” He finished weakly.

Standing in front of him in his full (and rather unembarrassed) naked glory was Wade. Now, the proclaimed anti-hero could tell him that a surprising amount of people had actually seen his ass. But even he could deem that the inappropriate thing to say from his position, his whole body facing directly towards the younger and substantially more flustered man.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, if the preceding series of events hadn’t excited Wade so much.

Even Wade started to feel a bit self-conscious.

“Ah, um. Thanks, Petey.” He said flatly, still unmoving.

Peter swallowed heavily, cursing himself for stealing a glance so obviously. He pursed his lips, setting the towel down on the counter quickly before all but scampering off to his own bedroom.

Shutting the door behind him, he slid his own towel off of his body and tousled his own hair with it before tossing it onto the bed.

“Yeah. Large. Definitely large.” He muttered to himself, almost in a reprimanding way. No, most definitely in a reprimanding way. There was no reason for him to have stared that long.

He slid on a pair of red boxers and black sweats, tugging on a black v-neck before digging through his drawers to find something for Wade to wear. Settling on an oversized pair of sweatpants and a shirt he’d borrowed from Wade earlier that month (he blushed at the thought), he exited the bedroom and hovered outside the bathroom door, which was now closed.

Peter bit his lower lip. “Uh, Wade? I have clothes. If you, um. If you want them.”

 _Of course he wants them, stupid!_ Peter thought, face-palming mentally.

The door opened, and Wade stood in front of Peter with, thankfully, a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Thanks.”

Wade made no move to take the clothes. When Peter looked up, brown eyes met cool amber ones in a loaded stare. Peter sighed, furrowing his brow and looking away.

“You’ve been… This has been weird, recently, Wade.” He averted his gaze, “Say something normal.”

Wade chuckled, taking the clothes. “Normal? Like what?”

“I don’t know, like. Something weird. In a different way. In the normal way!” Peter started to feel the blood rise to his cheeks. He crossed his arms.

Another deep laugh.

“Okay, well,” Wade smirked, “Are you a mirror, baby boy?”

“Am I… What?” Peter lowered his brows, confused. His heart almost stopped when he felt a hand lifting his chin.

“Because I can totally see myself inside you.”

Wade’s towel hit the floor.

The next thing Peter remembered was his flimsy little tee being flung nearly into the living room, his sweatpants and boxers landing somewhere between the hallway and his bedroom floor. The bed creaked under the weight of the two men hitting the mattress, Wade landing with his back to the cheap comforter and Peter straddling him. Breathless moans punctuated the spaces in between sharp intakes of breath and the absolute frenzy of mouths. Peter’s hands spread out against the expanse of Wade’s chest, pressing his palms to every inch of skin he could find. The intricate pattern of scarring was rough and warm and intoxicating all at the same time. Wade’s hands almost immediately found his way to Peter’s ass, not to either party’s surprise, large fingers squeezing appreciatively at the smooth skin of his backside like it was the last chance he’d ever get to touch the other man.

“Not that I’m – mm, complaining, but,” Wade grumbled out in between kisses, “But are you sure - mhm, - that you want to go this fast?”

Peter pulled away breathlessly, his pupils leaving only a thin ring of rich brown to be seen. His lips gleamed in the stripes of moonlight peeking through the blinds, and a dust of pink highlighted his cheeks.

“I regret not doing this faster.” He breathed.

As if that had hit a switch in Wade’s mind, the larger man gripped onto Peter’s hips, flipping their positions and wrapping Peter’s long, lithe legs around his waist. Warm lips latched onto Peter’s neck, Wade’s tongue running over love bites he sucked into the sensitive skin. Once he was satisfied with the trail of purple and red marks he left in his wake, Wade moved further down, teeth grazing over a pink nipple before he wrapped his tongue around it gingerly. Peter moaned in response.

“You really want this, don’t you, baby boy?”

Peter nodded vigorously as Wade turned to the other nipple, thick hands grazing over the length of his shaft teasingly.

“Say it.”

Peter’s brows furrowed, a low whine caught in his throat. It’d been so long since he’d been in any situation like this, and with barely any contact, he’d already gotten unbearably hard, and more so that that, unbelievably desperate.

“I want it so bad,” he moaned, rutting against the hand Wade had loosely wrapped around his cock. “God, Wade,” he choked out between strokes, “I need you.”

“You ever been fucked before, baby?”

Peter’s breath caught in his throat. He’d thought about it – hell, he’d fantasized about it. He’d used all the toys a broke college kid could buy, which wasn’t a lot. He’d been in a short-lived relationship with a guy, with a couple of girls. But the number of times he’d had real sex was little enough to count on two hands, and the amount of times he’d been on the receiving end was enough to count on one, and that was a long time ago.

He was far from a blushing virgin, but Wade was larger than anything he’d ever experienced before, or anything he’d even seen in porn.

As if reading his mind, Wade lifted his head and grinned.

“Then that’s something you’ll have to look forward to. But for now,” he bent down again, Wade left a wet trail of kisses down his stomach, “Just enjoy yourself. I want to hear you moan for me.”

Peter swore that his eyes almost rolled all the way back in his head when he felt Wade’s mouth envelop him.

He wasn’t as large as Wade, but he wasn’t small. About average, perhaps a tad longer if not thinner than. That didn’t seem to matter to Wade as he bottomed out, sliding his tongue up and down the shaft and driving Peter nothing short of mad. Those thick fingers grazed the underside of his balls and over his entrance, a silent promise of what he intended to later deliver.

It wasn’t long before Peter felt the coiling in his stomach become unbearable, almost clawing at Wade’s shoulders in warning.

“W-Wade, I’m not going to – ah, oh God…” Peter stuttered out, losing his thought with a drawn-out moan.

Wade looked up for only a second, almost smirking up at Peter before resuming his pace. Peter felt his lungs completely empty of air as he came, his body tensing as he opened his mouth in a silent scream.

Swallowing, Wade pulled off completely, wiping his mouth on his arm before hovering right over Peter, who looked absolutely spent.

“How was that?” Wade grinned, plopping down next to Peter with his arms behind his head. “Actually, don’t bother answering. I know I’m awesome.”

Taking in a large breath, Peter furrowed his brows, glancing towards Wade with a sardonic squint.

“So cocky.”

“Hey, I have the right to be.” Wade rolled onto his side, resting his head on a palm. “I saw you eyeing mine earlier. You could kill a man with that kind of sex face, babe. Looks like you really wanted a taste.”

Peter rolled over, feeling bold. “Maybe I did.”

“Mm, really?” Another smirk. “I’m feeling rather giving today, then.”

“Lucky me.”

Peter’s voice was smooth and low as he propped himself up onto his elbows, crawling on top of Wade and pressing a languid kiss to his lips before guiding the larger man to move backwards and sit against the headboard. His knees and elbows dug into the mattress, arching his backside into the air as he dipped his head, loosely gripping Wade’s massive cock with one hand before licking a stripe up the shaft. Wade groaned.

“So,” Wade began, almost too casually, “Does this finally mean I can call us lovers, now?” He dropped his hand to Peter’s head as he sucked on the tip of his dick, gently tousling brown locks.

Peter pulled off, running his hand up and down his length. “That’s what you want to focus on right now?”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely enjoying myself. But I want to know what I get to call this, Spidey-babe.”

Peter stopped for a second, a thoughtful look on his face. “… I’ll accept lovers. Only in private.”

“Hell yes! I’ve been waiting so damn long for – ah, shit…” Wade’s celebration was interrupted by a deep groan, fingers tightening in Peter’s hair and eliciting a sharp moan from the other man. Wade’s shit-eating grin returned.

“You like that, baby boy?”

Peter didn’t respond, averting his gaze and continuing bob up and down as far as he could reach.

Feeling a new rush of confidence, Wade tightened his grip, pulling Peter off his cock and forcing him to look him in the eyes.

“I asked you a question.” He growled.

Peter breath caught in his throat, mouth ajar and face flushed. “I like it.” He finally choked out.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Wade pushed Peter back down to the task at hand, Peter responding with a new sense of vigor that made Wade’s cock pulse in his mouth.

Peter choking slightly, holding back tears that threatened to spill from the thick intrusion in his throat. He swallowed around the tip, sliding his hand up and down the remaining length. The dull sting of Wades powerful hands in his hair spurred him on, and a heady moan vibrated on Wade’s dick.

“Shit, baby boy, your mouth is fucking magical.” Wade groaned in appreciation, holding back from rutting his hips into the smaller man’s face. “I’m not going to last much longer if you keep it up.”

Happy with the praise, Peter bobbed faster, stretching his tongue down the length and forcing himself down deeper.

As promised, Wade came with a deep grunt, cussing lowly and tightening his grip on Peter’s hair before releasing him. He pet lovingly down the side of Peter’s face as he pulled off, the younger man gasping headily with cum running off of his lips, a line of saliva connecting his mouth to the tip of Wade’s cock.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

Peter’s brow twitched, eyes lidded and hazy, before he registered what Wade had even said. Wade used his thumb to wipe his lower lip clean, pressing it against Peter’s lips he licked it off.

“We should clean up.”

Peter spoke after a long moment of easy silence. His voice was rough, something Wade would most definitely tease him for later.

Wade swung his legs off of the bed, standing up and hovering over Peter for a moment before lifting him up like he weighed nothing, supporting his ass with a single arms as Peter wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Back to the shower it is.”

Peter laughed. “I can walk, you know.” He pressed a kiss to Wade’s temple.

“Yeah, but my hope is,” Wade opened the door out of the bedroom and walked towards the bathroom, “You can carry me next time I’m tired after awesome sex.”

Another laugh. Wade liked Peter’s laugh.

“Sounds perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It's been a very long time! I hope that an extra long chapter and a little bit of action makes up for it. Thank you for the comments! That's really what kept me going and convinced me to push through to post another chapter as soon as I could. Stick with me, dudes - only six chapters left to go!


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